There But For the Grace of God
by Haiza Tyri
Summary: The Warehouse agents find themselves helping a scientist named Claire chase down an invisible man in Stage 5 Quicksilver Madness after Artie lets him out of the Bronze Sector. Trailer is heroic. Invisible Man characters include all the usual suspects.
1. Chapter 1

_A fellow named Will Shakespeare once said, "There's a divinity that shapes our ends, rough-hew them how we will." Now, I'm not much for the tortured sort of language old Will used, and I've never been a religious sort of guy, but sometimes when I think about the way things might have turned out, I wonder if there wasn't a divinity in it. My old Padre Tom Moore would say there was, but that's his job._

* * *

As always, there was the usual argument over assignments, and as always Artie won by shouting louder than anyone else.

"Pete and Myka, you are _going_ to Hot Springs to get that mammoth tusk, and Claudia and Steve, you are _going_ to Gillette, Wyoming, to get Buffalo Bill Cody's Spurs. Now go!"

And naturally all of Myka's warnings about the mischief Pete tended to get up to in museums went unheeded, as did Steve's whining about cowboy country and Pete's begging to get to track down Buffalo Bill's spurs and his stupid bowlegged gait and finger-six-shooters. Claudia was the only who was happy about the assignments, and that was only because she had a mischievous glint in her eye when she looked at Steve, as if she couldn't wait to get him near horses and their by-products again.

Hot Springs, South Dakota, was only about an hour south of the Warehouse. It would have been a quick snag-and-bag situation if they hadn't found the mammoth tusk, recently excavated from an ongoing dig, currently turning the mammoth museum back into the sinkhole that had trapped several hundred mammoths and made the town of Hot Springs into such a fertile dig site. By the time Myka and Pete had snagged it, they were soaked, covered in mud, and exhausted, and the dig contained a new skeleton, that of a tourist trapped deep in the sink hole before it turned back into the dig site.

"This is going to mess up their whole dating system," Myka said worriedly.

"Really? The archaeologists are allowed to date the tourists?" Pete asked. "Wish _I'd_ known that."

" _Pete!_ The _dating_ of the _remains!_ They have a _modern_ human body in there with the _mammoth_ skeletons! It's going to _ruin_ their whole system! Maybe I should go back in and explain…"

"Explain what? A magic mammoth tusk? Come on, Mykes. We need to get back to the Warehouse. I got a weird vibe."

Always alert to Pete's vibes, Myka hurried herself muddily back into the car, and they shot away north toward Univille.

It was two hours to Gillette, Wyoming, from the Warehouse, but Pete and Myka got back just as Claudia and Steve were pulling up. Steve's precious Prius looked a little the worse for wear, as did Steve.

"How did it go with Buffalo Bill's Spurs?" Myka asked, while Claudia stared at them and demanded, "What happened to you?"

"Just a little mud wrestling with mammoths," Pete smirked. "What's wrong, Jinksey?"

"I hate horses," Steve muttered.

"I actually can't wait to do the report on this one," Claudia laughed. "I wish you could have seen Jinskey turning into Buffalo Bill and performing on horseback! You're a natural, Jinksey."

"Oh, give it a rest," he snapped and stalked into the Umbilical.

The moment he entered the Umbilical, Pete gasped, "Oh _man._ I've got a bad vibe, Mykes."

They ran and emerged into the Warehouse to find alarms going off all over the place.

"Artifacts are loose!" Myka gasped. "Where's Artie?"

Claudia threw herself at the computer. "Hitler's Microphone! You'll need earplugs! The Titanic Driftwood! Take the thermal jackets! Nero's Lyre! You need the Freezing Snowglobe! Socrates' Goblet! The Snowglobe should work on that, too!"

She continued shouting at them while they gathered items and finally, well-armed, they charged into the fray.


	2. Chapter 2

_Several hours earlier_

"Mr. Nielsen, it's so nice to finally meet you," Dr. Kemp said. "I feel like I really know you, because of how many times we've worked on the same projects—and because of Dr. Calder."

Artie refused to blush at the mention of Vanessa. "Please call me Artie, Dr. Kemp."

"And you must call me Claire," the lovely British scientist said.

"Cookies?"

"What?"

"Do you want some cookies? I made them. No-bakes. It's been too hot to turn the oven on."

"Oh," she said in some bewilderment. "Thank you. I'd—really like to see him, if I may."

"Oh—yes. I suppose it's been a while."

"Twelve years. It's taken me twelve years. But I've done it."

He could understand that. The triumph of succeeding after so long, the guilt of not having done it before. He led her through the stacks. Her eyes were wide, but she didn't stop to look at anything. She was on a mission a dozen years in the making.

They came to the Bronze Sector and stood before the figure Dr. Claire Kemp had come to see. Pete called him Ip-Man, either from a lack of ability to read or out of his usual tomfoolery. The sign read "I-Man," which was the only identification he had. Every time he came into the Bronze Sector, Pete was whining and begging to know who he was. He was an impressive figure, tall, made taller by his hair standing straight up on end, and his expression one of more frantic rage than any of the other prisoners of the Bronze Sector, and none of _them_ were happy to be here. Artie had never wanted to see him de-bronzed. Now he was here to de-bronze him.

Dr. Kemp, however, stood looking at him a moment, then reached out her hand to his arm with an affectionate look. "Hello, Darien," she said softly. "I'm sorry it's taken me so long. But I made you a promise, and I'm here to keep it."

Artie brought out Gandhi's Dhoti. "We're going to want to cover him with this the instant he's de-bronzed. It'll replace his hatred with peace."

"What? No, that's not going to work. His problem isn't hatred. It's a suppression of his higher cortical functions. It's a form of madness that has more to do with a love for chaos than a hatred of anything. Anyway, I have developed a syringe that will pierce the bronze and transmit the cure to him before he's unbronzed. There'll be no problem with him once I've gotten the counteragent into his brain."

She had been unpacking a silver case and attaching a series of small devices to the bronze figure. "These will help me ascertain if it's working. If they read positive, then we de-bronze him." And now she held up an unpleasantly large needle. Artie blanched. She grinned at him. She had a surprisingly cheeky grin, for a great scientist. "Relax. He's used to it. But I need access to the back of his head."

Artie turned the tall figure and brought out a stool for her to stand on. She climbed up on it, her needle and massive syringe at the ready. She took a deep breath.

"It's been twelve years since I was used to sticking needles in his brain. I hope I remember the right spot."

With a slightly upward angle, she sank the needle straight through the bronze at the back of Ip-Man's neck, then slowly depressed the plunger.

"That should do it. Now we wait."

"How long will it take?"

"I don't know. The bronzing process slowed down all bodily functions. It would have been within moments normally, but it could be upwards of an hour now."

She sat down on her stool and watched her monitors. Artie stowed Gandhi's Dhoti away and found another stool. After a few minutes, Dr. Kemp looked over at him.

"Were you here when they bronzed him?"

"No. That was Mrs. Frederick and MacPherson. I was on a case. Invisible locusts."

"Invisible? Really?"

"We thought it was an artifact, but it turned out to be good old-fashioned genetic engineering. I'm surprised you never heard of that case, working with the CDC and with Van—Dr. Calder. International terrorist group called Chrysalis?"

Her eyes slid away. "Yes. I know Chrysalis. Actually prior to CDC and FBI and NSA involvement. We were the ones who first uncovered their existence—Darien and his partner and my Agency. Not that anyone would believe us, especially after we had to do _this_ to our greatest—our only asset." She nodded at the bronzed figure. "The Agency fell apart, the head of it died, and no one believed us about Chrysalis until the crop disaster in 2003. I suppose your locusts had to do with that. Were they really _invisible?"_

"Yes, they were. Only temporarily. I don't know how, since it wasn't artifact-related."

"I think it sort of was," she murmured.

"What do you mean?" he said swiftly.

"I'm just hypothesizing aloud," she said, and he didn't believe her.

"And you say _that_ was one of your assets?" He nodded at Ip-Man as she had. "I've read as much of a file on him as we've got. 'Do not for any reason de-bronze.' 'Extraordinarily violent and uncontrollable.'"

She sighed. "Yes, he was an asset. And he was a good man—I mean, he had a good heart. Good instincts, too. He would have been a fine agent, if not for this. A sabotaged experiment mean that he went insane on an average of once a week without a particular drug, but eventually he grew immune to the drug and the fits of insanity grew closer together until he was more insane than he was sane. Eventually he was begging me to kill him, to prevent his doing harm to anyone. We thought of long-term freezing, but we still don't know how to unfreeze the subjects without killing them. Then Mrs. Frederick came to us and recommended the bronzing procedure. He chose it, in one of his lucid moments. Being trapped inside what he became in the madness was torture to him. It makes me sad that he was bronzed during one of the mad times instead of one of the lucid ones. The madness wasn't _him._ It was done to him. Did you ever encounter a biological artifact?"

She had been pouring out her story as if it was a relief to do so, and he was startled by the sudden question.

"What, like—a mammoth tusk?" His mind went to the simple mission he'd sent Pete and Myka on to get them out of the way.

"Well, yes, or a—an organ or—something actually part of a person?"

He looked at her in some wonder. "Not a body part currently in use. I have seen a skeletal hand imbued with the power to make your hair grow quickly—"

 _"What?"_

"Oh, it's bad, believe me. It grows so quickly it saps all the nutrients from your body, and it can fill up a room with hair and smother anyone in it."

She shuddered.

"Yeah, it's in the Dark Vault. But the hand was removed from an ancient shaman and didn't gain its power for hundreds of years. It wasn't on him at the time. Why do you ask?"

"Well, the thing in his head, the experiment that makes him insane, it's a bio-synthetic artifact if I ever heard of one. It's got its upside, and it's got a doozy of a downside. And it can never come out with killing him. I've spent years working on that, too, without success."

"So you goo him once a week."

"I'm sorry—I what?"

"What we do with artifacts. We neutralize them with a solution affectionately called 'the purple goo.'"

"Right…Well, yes, I neutralize the madness once a week and let the good bit go on working. At least I did. While the counteragent was still working."

"And what is the upside?"

She shook her head. "Classified."

"I've got classification levels you've never heard of."

"Need-to-know, then." She gave him a sudden look. "You reminded me of someone just there. Who was it? Oh." She sighed and murmured what sounded like "Bobby."

"How is his progress?" Artie asked, to detract attention away from any incipient confidences about "Bobby."

"It's working. Slowly, but it's working." She suddenly gave him a tremulous smile. She had a beautiful smile. "If only I could go back in time and make it work _then."_

"No!"

She jumped and almost fell off her stool at his exclamation.

"I'm sorry, but you don't want to meddle with time. It's extremely dangerous."

"Do you mean it's _possible?"_

"Anything is possible. Not everything is advisable."

She winced. "I know. I learned the hard way, through Darien, about the dangers of indulging scientific imagination. Though his—gland wouldn't have been a problem if it hadn't been sabotaged. By someone we thought was on our side."

"I know what that's like," Artie muttered.

She glanced at him. "I suppose, working in a place like this, you would. I don't suppose you ever ran into the little weasel. Short French scientist named Arnaud de Föhn."

"The name is not familiar, but I'll keep a watch out for him."

"If he ever heard of this place, he'd never stop until he laid hands on some artifacts. He spent two years persistently hunting Darien, and then, when the Agency collapsed, he…disappeared for good." She gave a short, angry laugh. "That was my fault. We _had_ him, only I thought I could force him to give me the cure for what he'd done to Darien, so I gave him his old research. And I really thought he'd given me something. But instead he only rigged an explosion out of his old laptop and escaped. Same old Arnaud, deceiving us. That was his natural state, deceiving people. And the 'cure' he gave me did absolutely nothing for Darien… He always did prefer to have the last laugh. Only maybe I've had it this time, because in order to fool _me_ with his fake cure, he had to put some truth in it, and that ultimately gave me the key I needed. A designer gene. I just had to figure out which gene. I _am_ sorry—sometimes I talk far too much. I've had this weighing on me for twelve years and no one to understand…and you're such a sympathetic listener."

 _Sympathetic_ was not something Artie had ever been accused of being. Except by Trailer. Speaking of which, where was he?

"Oh, hello," Dr. Kemp said suddenly in a tone of pleased surprise.

There he was. "Where have you been, hmm?" Artie inquired. "Oh, yes, of course. I've tried to explain it to you, you know, but you don't listen. Just because I'm not an expert in smells doesn't mean I don't know anything."

At Claire's inquiring look, he explained, "This is my dog, Trailer. I'm _sorry._ I am this dog's human. He doesn't like the Bronze Sector. It's confusing to a canine nose for there to be so many humans he can't smell."

"Well, that makes perfect sense," she said and let the dog greet her enthusiastically.

"He approves of your intelligence," Artie said dryly. "More than mine, apparently."

"You shouldn't pretend like you don't love him. Dogs don't like that. They have affectionate hearts, even if they do express it in silly behavior. Oh!" She broke away from Trailer. "It's done! Oh, Darien, you can be free now."

Trailer whined.

"You don't have to stay, you know," Artie told him. He retreated but stayed in the doorway.

Dr. Kemp removed her devices from her bronze patient, and she and Artie got him maneuvered into the debronzer. Artie called up his file, 'I-Man,' activated the mechanism, and spat in the DNA reader. Dr. Kemp clutched her hands together with an unbearable expression.

The bronze melted away—Artie was always reminded of Han Solo frozen in carbonite. It was one of the few things he and Pete thought similarly about, not that he would ever tell Pete that. And then the tall, lanky figure was free. It stood there a moment, eyes closed, then slowly collapsed.

Artie and Claire caught him and managed to lower him gently to the floor. Dr. Kemp reattached all her instruments and sat tensely. Artie examined the man for the first time.

He was younger than he looked bronzed, late twenties, maybe, and with the fearsome rage gone he had quite a nice face, long and thin, like the rest of him, the forehead broad, the nose straight, the mouth both thin and sensuously shaped, young, and nearly smiling. Claudia would find him attractive. Pete would envy his hair.

Brown eyes opened, passed over him without comment, and rested on Claire. "Hey, Keep," said a slightly hoarse, quite young voice.

"Oh, Darien," she said softly.

"You look good. Older, though."

"Oh, thanks, Darien."

"How long's it been?"

She hesitated. "Twelve years."

And that was when everything started to go wrong.

His eyes closed, and his long body went stiff. In the doorway, Trailer growled, long and low, and then gave a shrill _yip_ and fled. Artie felt a thrill of alarm before Dr. Kemp did.

"Twelve years," the Ip-Man said, his eyes still closed, his voice somehow lower and older. " _Twelve years._ How did you enjoy your twelve years of freedom, Keep?"

"Oh, Darien, I spent nearly every moment I could working on this. I came as soon as I could."

"Not soon enough, Keep. Not soon enough." His eyes popped open, and Artie recoiled. They had turned from brown to completely silver.

 _"Darien!"_ Claire cried. "Darien, no! I fixed the error, Darien! The gland is no longer leaking Quicksilver into your brain!"

He bolted upright and seized her by the chin with long, cruel fingers. _"Not soon enough,_ Claire Keeply! Did you know you're _conscious_ in the bronze? I've been conscious for twelve years, feeling the Quicksilver taking over my brain! It's part of me now, no matter what you stick in me. This is _me_ now, Keep, and I _like_ it. Thanks for letting me out. I'll be seeing you."

And before Artie's eyes, he was turning silver.

" _No,_ Darien!" Claire clutched at the silvering arms. "Darien, hold on! I can fix this!"

"You said that for fourteen years, _Doctor._ You're _useless."_

The silver was turning transparent. Artie was actually staring straight through him at the floor beneath him. He'd seen invisibility before, of course, but never contained within the body of a human. Still, the human was just another maniac in his Warehouse. He sighed and pulled out his Tesla.

"Stand back, Dr. Kemp."

She didn't stand back. She was thrown back invisibly so hard she cracked her head on the floor and lay still. Artie fired at the place where he had seen the man go invisible. The space crackled and sparked in the shape of a man, but it didn't stop the man's movement as, still crackling, he shot up off the floor at Artie. Artie tried to fire again, but the man was too fast. He struck, and the Tesla went flying. The crackling faded, and he was invisible. Invisible hands seized Artie and began dragging him toward the bronzer.

"Trailer!" Artie shouted. "Trailer, come use your nose! Don't be a coward!"

Trailer dragged himself, whimpering, into the doorway as Artie struggled against the much taller and stronger (and more invisible) man.

 _"Trailer!"_

The dog launched himself forward, but out of nowhere his body changed direction and went flying, hit a bronzed figure and fell to the floor, as still as Dr. Kemp. Momentarily free, Artie scrambled toward Gandhi's Dhoti, but a strong blow sent him sprawling. Dazed, he was dragged invisibly toward the bronzer and crammed into it.

"Let's see how _you_ like it, Warehouse Man," the Invisible Man growled in his ear and slammed the door closed.


	3. Chapter 3

The Warehouse Agents spread throughout the Warehouse, containing artifacts right and left. Their skill had never been so evident. Without time to think about it and too anxious to realize it, they were having the time of their life.

Until they followed the trail of chaos to the Bronze Sector.

Claudia got there first, and they were all transfixed by her scream. "Artie!"

They found her scrambling wildly in the ruins of the debronzer controls. "It's smashed! It's completely smashed!" she cried. "We can't get him out!"

And there was Artie, a protesting bronze statue.

"Who did this?" Pete shouted.

As if in answer, wild barking sounded across the Warehouse.

"Trailer!" Steve shouted.

"Claudia, stay and try to fix this," Myka commanded. "We'll find the beast who did this."

She nodded and went to work, and they ran.

Steve seemed to have an instinct for which direction in the echoing place Trailer's barking was coming from. As they came closer they heard more artifacts being flung around and wreaking uncountable havoc.

"Pete! Go for the goo guns!" Myka called, and Pete rushed off in a different direction.

There was a scream, a woman's voice.

"Was that Abigail?" Myka wondered.

"No," Steve said. "I don't know who it is."

"You can tell truth by screams now?"

"Funny. That way!"

Accustomed as they were to strange sights, this was a _very_ strange one. A blond woman they had never seen before was bound by Will Rogers' Lasso and was being dragged by…nothing. Trailer was hopping around, snarling and making rushes at nothing and dodging out of the way of nothing. Out of nowhere, something came flying at them; Myka instinctively caught it with her gloved hand.

"W.C. Fields' Juggling Balls!" She threw it away, thankful for the neutralizer-imbued gloves.

Something else came flying. Steve caught it as it narrowly missed Myka's head. "Brigadier General Laverlong's Walking Stick! Myka, whatever this is, he—or it—doesn't know how to use the artifacts!"

"Use it!" she cried and threw her arms around him as he pounded it to the floor so she could share the user's immunity to the earthquake.

The tremors made the struggling blond woman and Trailer fall down. Maybe it did the invisible enemy, too, because the woman fell away, still bound but no longer dragged. Myka darted forward and pulled her away. Trailer was up again and snarling at nothing on the floor.

"He's invisible," the woman gasped. "He's invisible—and very strong—Don't hurt him! He has more artifacts!" she cried, just as something like a snake came flying at Trailer.

"Mykes!" Pete tossed a goo gun to Myka, and they both took aim at snake and Trailer alike. Steve darted forward and tossed the neutralized snake—now a metal statuette—out of the way.

Trailer, with something like a reproachful look, shook the purple goo off, splattering it everywhere, and bolted. Pete took aim after him and shot wildly, hitting shelves of artifacts and then illuminating a fleeing figure with purple.

 _"Darien!"_ the woman screamed after him.

Myka threw her goo gun to Steve. "Go!"

He and Pete ran. Myka dragged the Lasso off the woman and pushed it into a puddle of goo.

"Are you alright? Who are you?"

"He bronzed Artie!" she cried, half-hysterical. "And he broke the debronzer!"

"I know. Claudia's looking at fixing it. _Who are you?_ Who's _he?_ Does he have the Honjo Masamune?"

"The _what_?"

"A sword! A big Japanese sword!"

"I didn't see a sword. He—um—he took a little mirror, and a—"

"No! It's a sword that makes you invisible!"

"Oh! No—he makes himself invisible. A—a sort of artifact in his brain. It's driven him mad—I thought I had neutralized it—" She was weeping.

Myka shook her. "There's no time for that right now! We've got to head him off at the exit!"

"You'll never catch him," the woman said sadly. "He's too good."

"So are we."


	4. Chapter 4

A couple of hours later they were all gathered in the Bronze Sector, staring sadly at Artie. Myka and Pete were covered in mud, Pete and Steve were covered in purple goo, Claudia was covered in dust and oil from digging in debronzer-innards, and she and the strange woman were both crying, for different reasons.

"I can't do anything with this," Claudia sobbed, giving the debronzer a kick. "He's just _stuck_ in there."

"Darien, Darien, this is all my fault," the woman was moaning to herself. "If I had only figured it out _years_ ago." She had a British accent.

Trailer wasn't helping matters. He was whining at Bronze Artie.

"Would everyone please be quiet!" Myka shouted.

They all stared at her.

"Sorry, Trailer. You're a hero. Claudia, calm down. The Regents will send someone who can fix the debronzer, and we'll have Artie back, just a bit grumpier than usual. It's not the first time he's been in there. The real problem is the invisible man and the artifacts he stole."

"And Artie's car," Pete said. _"Invisible_ Artie's car."

Myka winced. "Even grumpier Artie." She pointed at the blond British woman. "You, tell us everything you know about this invisible man and what happened here."

She wiped her face and sighed. "It's highly classified and need-to-know."

"We—"

"— _need to know!"_ everyone shouted.

"I know! I'm going to tell you. You don't need to shout at me. His name is Darien Fawkes. Fourteen years ago he was part of an experiment in invisibility. A bio-synthetic gland was inserted into his brain, and it produces a light-bending substance called Quicksilver that makes him invisible at will. It was a government program, and he became an agent for the Agency I worked for. I was his…doctor. Oh—my name is…Kemp. Dr. Claire Kemp. The gland itself worked perfectly. Better even than its inventor anticipated. The error was introduced on purpose by a saboteur, a scientist who worked on the project. He altered the gland so that it was always leaking Quicksilver into Darien's brain, and it would build up until it overrode his higher cortical functions, suppressed all self-control and moral functions, and exacerbated his natural mischievous and…law-breaking tendencies. We called it Quicksilver Madness. It gave him great pain and made him feel as if…he was trapped and imprisoned by his own brain. But part of him truly enjoyed what came out in the Madness, especially Stage 5. In earlier stages he was an uncontrolled maniac. In Stage 5 he became all the more dangerous because he was controlled and utterly moral-less."

"Ah!" Pete said. "Chaotic Evil and Neutral Evil! And you say _Neutral_ Evil was more dangerous?"

They all stared at him except Claudia, who shook her head. "Of _course_ Neutral Evil is more dangerous than Chaotic Evil! Chaotic Evil is never _intelligent."_

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Dr. Kemp said, "but you're right about the…er—categories, whatever they are. He was extraordinary dangerous at Stage 5. We had a counteragent that would restore his brain function, but in time he grew immune to it. I was searching frantically for a cure, but I ran out of time. He was taken over by the Madness, and we had to come up with a way to contain him long-term. There was some connection between my Agency and the Warehouse, and Mrs. Frederick offered bronzing."

"He was _here?_ He was _bronzed?"_ Pete cried. He looked wildly around. "Who—Ip-Man! Was he Ip-Man?"

"Ip…Wasn't that a film?" She gazed at Myka as at the most responsible person in the room.

"I-Man. He's talking about the bronzed man called 'I-Man.' I suppose that means 'Invisible Man.'"

She nodded. "Unimaginative, but true. I have not stopped trying to find a cure for the Madness part, and finally I did. I got clearance to come here and permission to de-bronze him, with Arthur Nielsen's help."

Myka stiffened in outrage. "He got us out of the way, didn't he? He sent us on those assignments so we wouldn't ask questions!"

"Probably. No one was supposed to know about Darien. Would you have asked questions?"

"You bet," Pete smirked.

" _Pete_ would have hidden around the corner and snooped," Steve said darkly.

"Hey, don't forget the genius over here," Claudia said.

"Oh, yes, and Claudia would have rigged some high-tech listening device."

"And _you_ would have listened with me, Mr. High-and-Mighty ATF Agent!"

Dr. Kemp watched them in wonder. "You make me think so much of being back at the Agency," she said. "Those were difficult years, and my life with the CDC is so much easier, and yet I think they were the best years of my life. They were certainly the best of Darien's, for all his whinging and despite how many times we had to chase him down in a fit of madness and bring him back to himself."

"Oh, yeah. Sounds like the Warehouse," Pete said. "Why, each of us has gotten whammied and gone crazy _at least_ once, if not more. Tracking each other down's part of the job."

"Then I imagine you're the right people to help me track Darien down."

"So what did happen?" Myka asked. "The cure didn't work?"

"Oh, it did work. It did exactly what it was designed to do, killed the cells in the gland that produced the toxin that created the Madness. Only what I didn't—couldn't know and my instruments couldn't tell me was that the whole time Darien was bronzed, the gland was leaking the toxin into his brain and altering its structure. I think—I can't be sure without a full brain scan, but I think his brain is irrevocably changed. A little counteragent won't work. It's _permanent."_ She buried her face in her hands and sobbed heavily.

"Hey, Doc," Pete said awkwardly after a moment, "nothing's permanent around here. Maybe we can find some kind of brain-altering artifact—"

"Pete," Myka said softly, "there's always a downside. In helping him with an artifact, what would we be doing to him?"

"Myka, what downside could possibly be worse than being permanently crazy and a danger to everyone? What if he—I don't know, ends up crippled instead of crazy? That would be _better,_ wouldn't it?"

"For once I've got to agree with Pete," Steve said, and they all stared at him, especially Claudia. "I mean, I have reason to know about downsides that happen when someone tries to help you with an artifact—but we figured that downside out, didn't we? Being dead wasn't so bad, but being a dangerous lunatic? A danger to anyone I've ever known and loved? We've _seen_ that. We—well—" He glanced at Claudia. "We used an artifact to fix that, too, and we're still dealing with the effects of it, but we _fixed_ it. So this time we do our research and find out about the downsides and how to fix them _before_ we use them on this insane invisible man."

They all sat quietly, just looking at him. Suddenly Myka exclaimed, "Insane invisible man! How could I be so stupid! Dr. Kemp!"

Dr. Claire Kemp blushed. "Er—yes. I did hope no one would notice. I'm not so good at coming up with—well—"

"Pseudonyms?"

"What _are_ you talking about?" Claudia demanded.

" _The Invisible Man_ is a novel by—well—" Myka giggled, slightly hysterically. "H.G. Wells."

" _H.G.!"_ they all exclaimed.

"I knew that," Pete murmured. "I've seen the movie. He goes insane. They have to kill him."

" _No!"_ Dr. Kemp shouted at him.

"Sorry. We're not going to kill him. It's just a movie. Hey! Dr. Kemp was the main character!"

"What do you know, Pete finally knows something I know," Myka said.

"Yes, well, the Invisible Man killed him."

"He wouldn't," Claire gasped. "He wouldn't kill me. Not Darien."

"It's fiction," Myka said. "And that didn't happen in the book anyway."

"So Kemp isn't your real name?" Steve asked with a frown.

"Are you telling me Jinks is really yours?"

"Unfortunately, yes."

"That's strange. I mean—not your name! The fact that you do _this_ work and you use your real name. I haven't used mine since I moved to the States and started working for the U.S. government." She rubbed her hands over her face wearily. "The first thing to do is _find_ him. All you have to do is follow the chaos. You'll need thermal glasses of some sort to be able to see him by his body temperature. It'll be unusually low when he's Quicksilvered."

"I'm on that," Claudia said.

"I'll give you the specifications you'll need."

"Claudia, you and I are the best researchers," Myka said. "We'll find an appropriate artifact and—and do Artie's job while Pete, Steve, and Dr. Kemp do the tracking. But we'll be there with you whenever you need it," she said sternly to Pete. "Dr. Kemp—"

"Claire, please. That actually _is_ my name."

"Claire, we'll need all the information you can give us on this Quicksilver Madness so we can match it up with an artifact."

Claire nodded. "I also want to bring in someone to help track Darien." Amid various expostulations, she raised her voice. "I'm not asking permission! This is _my_ project, _my_ agent, and _my_ friend! And the best person to actually find him and figure out how to bring him in is his old partner and best friend. Bobby Hobbes knew Darien better than anyone else, and we need him."

"Oh, well, an old partner, why didn't you say so?" Pete said.

"Anyway," Claire murmured, "he's just crazy enough to think like a madman."

"What do you mean—" Myka began but was interrupted by Claudia, who hadn't heard.

"And what about Artie? How do we contact Mrs. Frederick to get the debronzer fixed?"

"You don't contact me. I contact you," Mrs. Frederick said behind them.

They all started, as always, including Claire, who, nonetheless, didn't seem any more surprised than they did.

"We have a problem," Mrs. Frederick said. "Have you been looking at the news?"

" _News?"_ Pete said. "It's taken us three hours just to get the artifacts contained…" He faded away under her eye.

Claudia was already bringing up various news reports on her laptop. Reports of an invisible monster terrorizing tourists at Mount Rushmore. A series of mysterious assaults and thefts in Rapid City, South Dakota. An explosion in Sundance, Wyoming. Another invisible monster at Devil's Tower—

"This means something. This is important," Pete murmured irrepressibly, ignoring all glares.

"Like I said, follow the chaos," Claire sighed. "At least he still doesn't seem to understand the artifacts."

"I take it this is your invisible agent," Mrs. Frederick said.

"Yes, ma'am."

"We already have a plan for tracking him!" Myka said eagerly. "Claudia and I—"

"Good. Go to it. Claudia, the debronzer?"

Claudia launched into a highly technical explanation which only she and Mrs. Frederick understood, while Claire took her laptop and began transferring Quicksilver Project information to it. Myka started making a list of useful tools and artifacts for Pete and Steve to take.

"You were right not to try to fix it yourself," Mrs. Frederick said. "I will send the only person I know who can fix it, when he's available."

 _"When he's available!"_

"He's currently working on something much more critical."

"What's more critical than unbronzing Artie?"

Mrs. Frederick skewered her with one of her looks. "Many things, Miss Donovan. He's not in any danger there, and I'm confident that between you you can track one invisible man."

"Anyway, I'm bringing in Darien's old partner," Claire said, tapping away as rapidly even as Claudia could.

"Are you sure you want to do that, Dr. Kemp?"

"Oh, yes, I'm sure."

"How long has it been since you've seen him?"

"Five years, at least."

"Are you aware of his current condition?"

"Oh, yes. I've been working on that, too." She smiled sadly. "Thought I'm no longer as confident in my experimental drugs as I used to be. But no one knows Darien better than he does."

"Very well. He is your responsibility. You all know what you have to do. I will leave you to do it."

And then it was just like a normal beginning of a case. Albeit one with Artie locked in the bronzer. Not that that was entirely unheard of.


	5. Chapter 5

_"Claire—Claire, listen to me. I want you to do it."_

 _He so rarely called her Claire. Usually it was "Keep," from "Keeper," an unpleasant title that had become an affectionate nickname._

 _"Claire, would you listen to me?"_

 _His raised voice made her look at him warily, but the counteragent was still working. Soon she was going to have to rig an intravenous drop of the stuff, and what would happen when the Agency ran out of money for it?_

 _"Hey, Keep, it's alright," he said in a gentler tone. "But you got to do it, Keep. Take the gland out of my brain."_

 _"Darien, you know that'll kill you," she said with a sigh._

 _"I know." Usually he played the fool so well, but it was all gone from him now. "It's what I want, Claire."_

 _"No, you don't, Darien."_

 _"Look at me, Claire!_ Look. At. Me."

 _Reluctantly she looked. He was strapped to a bed, voluntarily. His merry young face was lined with pain and fear. His upstanding shock of brown hair was falling down into his eyes. She found herself reaching out and brushing it back._

 _"You think I want to live like this, Keep? I could've just stayed in prison. Anything would've been better than this. Sometime soon you'll entirely run out of money for more counteragent or my immunity will make it ineffective. Someday extremely soon I'll be permanently psycho, and then you'll have to keep me locked up for the rest of my life in a straight jacket. I've seen what that looks like, Keep! I'm not going to live like that! I'm a pretty clever guy, aren't I, Keep? I mean, Kevin wasn't the only Fawkes with the brains, much as he pretended he was. Everyone always told me I was squandering what God gave me. Huh." He gave a laugh with no amusement in it. "Well, I won't squander it when I'm in permanent Stage 5 Quicksilver Madness. I'll use it, alright, to get out of whatever kind of nuthouse you keep me in. I'm a professional cat burglar, Keep. It's what I do. And then who knows who I'll hurt, who I'll kill. What a nice picture. Is this what you want for me?_

 _"Eventually the Official's going to order you to do it anyway, and I_ want _you to do it! Do it while I'm still_ me. _I don't want to go out a raving lunatic, Claire. I want to go out as me. Claire—if you don't, I'll escape from here and find Chrysalis or Arnaud and have them do it."_

 _Usually she was good at keeping her emotions in check, but not today. Darien observed her heaving shoulders and said gently, "Hey, I'm not blaming you, Keep. This isn't your fault."_

 _"Yes, it is! This is the second time I've had to lock up one of my own patients because of_ my _errors—"_

 _"It's not_ your _error, Claire!_ Arnaud _did it! He's to blame, not you. Auughh!"_

 _He was screaming and writhing in his restraints again. It was too soon! He was wearing through the counteragent so quickly she was hardly having time to create more doses. The next ones weren't going to be ready for at least three minutes, which was three minutes of him screaming in agony._

 _"Is this what you want?" he screamed at her after about two minutes, his eyes gone red and enraged in the first stage. "Is this how you want me to be? Just kill me—just kill me!"_

 _She snatched the dose out of the centrifuge as soon as it stopped, filled her syringe, and plunged it into his vein. His arms looked like a drug addict's. He went stiff and then sank into the brief stupor the counteragent gave him. Claire sat down and sobbed._

 _"Oh, Darien, I'm sorry—I'm so sorry—"_

Someone was shaking her. "Ma'am? Ma'am, please wake up."

She looked blearily into the face of someone she recognized as a flight attendant. "I—What—?"

"I'm sorry, ma'am. I think you were having a nightmare. You've been crying in your sleep. Here, why don't you drink this?"

A plastic airline cup of water was put in her hand, and she drank it and wished it was stronger. Her seatmate and people across the aisle were looking at her with embarrassed curiosity.

"Are you alright, ma'am?" the attendant said. "Do you need any help when we land?"

"No—no. I'm sorry to have been a bother." She hadn't had that dream in several years. Just her luck it would strike on an _airplane._

"Would you like anything? A strong drink?"

"No—I've got to drive. Tea? Er—black, with two tea bags and lots of sugar." One of the problems with living in America was that they _didn't_ know how to make tea.

She drank the (rather terrible) tea and buried herself in her research to avoid the eyes of her fellow passengers. Myka and Claudia had used several artifacts together to let her actually take something like a brain scan of Darien _in the past._ They had a thing that let them look at the echoes of recent events, and they had another thing that let them look into the interiors of things, and somehow Claudia had made it transfer information to her laptop. They were geniuses in their own fields, as she was in hers.

She was just thankful she had decided against bringing Pete on this little quest. She had seriously considered it, thinking Bobby might take to him. He was so much like Darien in some ways, putting on childishness to deal with the world.

But she'd thought better of the idea, realizing that he was more likely to get shot before any resemblance in character to Bobby's old partner could be recognized, and anyway, there was no way Steve could take on Darien on his own, even if he could find him. They were _hours_ behind him. By the time she'd finally left the Warehouse to catch a tiny plane to Rapid City, he was almost out of Wyoming, pausing at a place picturesquely called Hell's Half Acre to stampede a herd of domesticated American buffalo into a canyon.

("At least he's got style," Pete had said admiringly. "They used to do that, you know. I watched a movie about it. The great Arapaho chief—"

 _"Pete,"_ Myka had said, and he'd shut up.)

So now Pete and Steve were blazing their way across Wyoming after him ( _80 miles an hour,_ the speed limit was!), and Claire was taking a series of tiny flights to California. Had they considered when they put their Warehouse in the middle of nowhere, South Dakota, that it was going to take their agents _hours_ just to get to a flight out of the state? Mrs. Frederick had managed to wrangle what looked like a crop dusting plane to get her quickly to Rapid City, and then it was an hour and a half to Denver, Colorado, and finally she was on her last flight from Denver to Bakersfield, California. And then she still had to rent a car and drive to the tiny mountain town where Bobby had been holed up for about eight years.

After Darien, what had happened to Bobby was the worst part of this whole thing. Without Darien, the Agency couldn't last. The Official had a heart attack trying to keep it going (Eberts, in a rare access of poeticism, said it was a broken heart). Without the power he had behind it and without the Invisible Man, the Agency was a joke and quickly folded. Eberts, Alex, and the other agents were easily incorporated into other agencies, Claire found herself earnestly desired by the CDC, and Bobby… No one wanted Bobby. Never mind that his list of successes was higher than his list of failures, which not every agent could say. Never mind that he had a true instinct for danger and a keener eye for a threat than most agents. Never mind that he had a depth of experience that had turned his partnership with the fabulous Invisible Man into the success it was. Never mind that without him Darien Fawkes would have been nothing but an immature felon with a special talent. Never mind that he was patriotic and intensely loyal. He had another reputation that made him a joke to idiots like Jones at the FBI, that of a loose cannon with a therapist and a prescription for psychiatric drugs. Because he was short and balding and pugnacious, not tall and handsome like Jones and like Darien himself, and because he was—yes, paranoid and touchy and required a really particular sort of person to make him a successful partner (and somehow Darien had been that person), no one would touch him. Scorning the FBI, he'd applied for the Secret Service, but his FBI reputation had preceded him. He was denied everywhere he'd turned. If anyone had had his heart broken, it was Bobby Hobbes. A lifetime of service and devotion to his country, only to be turned away with a mocking laugh.

He'd retreated from all society to some tiny mountain town, to gain a reputation as an unstable, paranoid recluse. The last time Claire had seen him, he'd sent her away, certain she was just like everyone else. She was as likely to get shot as Pete…but still, it was Bobby. Underneath paranoia and chemical imbalances in his brain (Darien wasn't the only one with a gland that made him crazy), he had a heart that was loyal and kind. That was what she was going to appeal to.


	6. Chapter 6

Pete and Steve had brought Trailer along, since he was so good at tracking I-Man. It was difficult to coax him away from whining at Bronze Artie, but Myka did it with the snake statuette the Invisible Man had thrown at him. Apparently even invisible men left their scent on things, and it had just about driven Trailer frantic. Now, a few hours later in Pete's car speeding across Wyoming, he had calmed down and was lying with his nose pressed against the window. It was too hot to open it for him.

"So, Hell's Half Acre," Pete said. " _Great_ name, but what's it mean?"

"It's an escarpment," Steve said absently. He was reading files on his cell phone that Claire had sent them.

"A who?"

"A sort of ridge-thing formed by erosion. Mini-Grand Canyon sort of thing. Didn't you look at the information Claudia sent us?"

"Hey, I'm driving. Myka gets mad at me when I look at stuff when I'm driving." Still, he slewed his eyes over at the photo Steve held up on his phone of a weird alien landscape of brightly-colored rocky spires. "Oh _man,_ that's cool. Wyoming is so weird. We're going there, right?"

"No, we're not. He's long gone from there, and he doesn't seem to have left an artifact behind. The more he stops and we don't, the more likely we are to catch up with him."

"Hang it all, Spock, why _must_ you be so logical?"

"It's my natural gift. Be quiet a minute." He was dialing someone on his phone. "Tyler? Hi, it's Steve Jinks. Yeah—yes—no—It's a special assignment. Yeah. No, I can't. I need a favor. Information on a case down your way. No, years ago. Looks like 2002. There was a run-in between ATF agents and some agents from…the Bureau of Indian Affairs. Yeah, that's what I said. The Indian Affairs agents were Robert Hobbes and Darien Fawkes. F-A-W-K-E-S. I want any information you can dig up on Robert Hobbes. Yes. Current case. Yes. Alright, thanks, Tyler."

"Look at you, being all sneaky," Pete said admiringly.

"Dr. Kemp told us precious little about this Agent Hobbes and from what I can get out of these case files she sent, he's either unbelievably effective or plain crazy, and I want to know which."

"Why not both? Hey, you know you've got to be a little crazy to do this work. Look at Artie."

Trailer put his head up and whined. Steve put his hand back and scratched behind his ears.

"They weren't Warehouse agents."

"No, but if Mrs. F. was involved, you know they had to be into some pretty weird stuff. You think they're going to use an invisible man to catch petty thieves?"

"I suppose not. You're not so bad in the logic department yourself, Captain Kirk."

Pete grinned. "So, what about those cases, then?"

Steve scrolled on his phone again. "There's a lot redacted, but, yeah, some of it seems pretty weird. Fawkes goes undercover in a prison while Hobbes defuses some kind of super-bomb. The CDC gets called in for a case of bacterial infection that's making people insane. Hobbes and Fawkes solve the murder of a scientist by…particle accelerator? Fawkes and Hobbes capture an assassin who blinds witnesses instead of killing them. Hobbes and Fawkes expose a doctor who's been…stealing parts of the brains of homeless people for cures for other people? Fawkes and Hobbes rescue Dr.—hey! This picture look familiar?" He flashed another photo in front of Pete's face.

"Hey hey hey! That's that kind of hot scientist from Eureka! Dr. Kate Westin. Remember how much she liked me?"

"As _I_ remember it, she wouldn't give you the time of day, being one hundred percent happily married to her scientist husband Daniel*."

"Party pooper," Pete scowled.

 _"Anyway,_ as it appears, her real name wasn't Westin—it's redacted—and she worked for—redacted—and invented—redacted—and was kidnapped by—"

"Redacted."

"No. By _Chrysalis."_

 _"What?_ Those wack jobs?"

"Rescued by Fawkes and Hobbes and given witness protection in Eureka, which if _I_ needed to get into witness protection, that is where I'd go."

"Sounds like we're all a nice little happy family," Pete said with another scowl. "Can't the Regents keep their fingers out of anything?"

"Watch what you say about the Regents, Lattimer. Your mom might be listening," Steve smirked.

"Don't talk about my mom, Jinksy!"

In the back seat, Trailer gave a low growl that was momentarily so much like Artie's usual snarl that they both stiffened, then relaxed and laughed awkwardly.

("I've got an idea!" Claudia had said. "We could use Mr. Mental's Fezzes to communicate with Artie through Trailer!"

Myka had quickly nixed that idea. "Claudia, do you realize that that would leave one of us eternally telepathically linked to Artie through a _dog?"_

"Oh," Claudia shuddered. "Holy creeptastic, Mental Man. Some prices are too high to pay. Sorry, Artie.")

" _Anyway,"_ Steve said, "there's all these successes, in which Fawkes is mostly listed first, and of course he's got the whole invisibility thing going for him—or against him—but I've been at this long enough to know that no one's this successful alone. Hobbes has years of experience on him. Marines, CIA... But then—I don't know if Dr. Kemp meant to include this file of complaints Hobbes filed against their agency—no parking validation, no office—no _stapler?_ He's got this whole list of petty grievances—"

"Hey, don't knock petty grievances. They add up. And I bet his boss didn't make him cookies. If he had, he might not have complained about parking. Speaking of cookies, get in the glove compartment."

"What?"

"I brought the no-bakes."

"You took the cookies Artie left in his office?"

"Hey, he's not going to eat them. We'll think of him while _we_ eat them." He gave Steve a soulful look.

Trailer made a low sound when Steve brought the cookies out, but Steve quickly stopped Pete's hand about to hand one back to him.

"Remember what Artie says about dogs and chocolate."

"Oh, yeah. Sorry, Trailer."

"I think Myka packed his latest bone." Steve dug around until he found a rawhide bone, at which Trailer cheered up.

"Myka's a hero."

"Yes. And look at this. Here's a time Hobbes was arrested for stalking his ex-wife. And then for assault on her new boyfriend."

"Well—I mean, I can understand _that."_

"And one time he…shot up a post office? No—looks like he was whammied by an artifact. No—hallucinogenic drug in a Christmas card. No—wait, there's a note. 'SD-13-AN-913C-929720-2917—Yeah, a lot more numbers, and I know this system. Warehouse cataloging. It _was_ an artifact, and the cover story was the drug."

"Oh, I know what artifact that was," Pete groaned.

"Yeah. Patrick Sherrill's Christmas Card. Who could forget that?"

"This guy Hobbes and me, we got connections, Steve. I think I'm going to like him."

"I _think_ we're going to find out he's as crazy as Fawkes, Pete."

As if in answer, his phone buzzed. "Hey, Tyler. Yeah. Oh, good, thanks. Oh, really. FBI, too? Hmm. Eight years? You sure he hasn't been working something deep cover? Police reports? Wonderful. No, just a case. No, I can't tell you, but I owe you one. Yeah, right. Thanks." He hung up and raised his eyebrows at Pete. "Word at the agencies is that he's gone off the deep end. FBI says he was 'hanging by his fingertips from the diving board for years.'"

Pete laughed. "That's a good one!"

Steve rolled his eyes. "Are you even paying attention to what I'm saying? Look at these police reports my contact sent me!"

"I can't. I'm driving. What about the case they were on with the ATF?"

"They weren't exactly on it. The San Diego Field Division was tracking down…looks like arms dealers working off the La Jolla Indian Reservation. The tribe, not knowing the full story of the arms dealers, called in the special resource of the Bureau of Indian Affairs—"

"Weren't they with the Bureau of Weights and Measures?"

"I thought so, but not at this point. They seemed to move around a lot. There was a struggle for control of the case. ATF had the right to work there since the arms dealers weren't La Jolla Indians themselves, just people illegally using their land. But the tribe had the right to deal with unexplained incidents on their own land in their own way. Looks like it was one of Fawkes and Hobbes' failures, though the ATF did get their men. The ATF's report is full of Hobbes' belligerence, and one of the agents claims Fawkes' shenanigans—that's what it says, _shenanigans—_ nearly cost them the mission. But one of the other agents said, 'It is my considered opinion that if we had cooperated with the tribe and the Bureau of Indian Affairs better than we did, our job would have been a lot easier.'"

"So, I don't get what your problem is. Sounds like they were good at their jobs. Just a little quirky. _We're_ a little quirky."

"A _little?_ My problem is that Dr. Kemp is going to recruit an unstable former agent who's been out of the field for twelve years and was already off the deep end when he was still an agent. Why isn't this concerning you?"

"Hey, set a crazy man to catch a crazy man. Now, what's that a quote from?"

"Hitchcock," Steve said gloomily. "I've got a bad feeling about this."

"Well, _I_ don't. For once."

* * *

* **Author's note:** An homage to Drs Daniel and Kate Westin from the short-lived but delightful 1975 Invisible Man TV series, though I have a feeling that Dr. Kate Easton from this particular Invisible Man may have been an homage to that one.


End file.
